


Foggy Feelings

by Marvel_Managed



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Crushes, Crushing, Eventual Smut, Helicarrier Fight, M/M, Marvel - Freeform, Maybe - Freeform, PTSD, PTSD Steve, So much angst, Steve Has PTSD, Steve is alone, Stony - Freeform, Trauma, angsty little shits, edits, fluff?, helicarrier angst, ice ptsd, ice trauma, marvel edits
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-07 21:36:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11632395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvel_Managed/pseuds/Marvel_Managed
Summary: After the first Avengers movie, Steve struggles with nightmares about the ice. Tony tries to help, but after the helicarrier nothing is the same, and neither of them knows how to fix it.





	1. Ice

**Author's Note:**

> ayyyy tell me if you like it! Also, if you know of any good marvel edits u should tell me because that's what I live for. There's this one edit that this fic reminded me of, it's of Steve & Peggy before the ice then after and it's really sad but I can't find it.

Steve didn’t know how long he had been there, in the shower. He had one hand against the wall, steadying himself with his buckling knees. The hot water streamed down his face, closing his eyes and falling off his lower lip. He drew a steamy breath. The water was the only thing that reassured him. And the heat, almost scalding him, but he didn’t care. He’d done this more times than he could remember in the past week. Once at 1am, 4am, midnight, and this time around 3. It was whenever the nightmares woke him up. He would reach up, trying to hold onto something, anything, that would stop this feeling. The ice consumed him, hitting his lungs suddenly, pushing whatever last breath he had out of him. The icy water paralyzed his limbs but still, he struggled. He would wake up drenched in a cold sweat, eyes blown and blurry with tears. He’d sprint out of bed and to the shower, staying there for as long as needed.   
His legs gave out, and he buckled to the floor, crumpling in a heap. I’m supposed to be Captain America. I can’t fucking go on like this. This isn’t living, it’s just . . . pathetic. He thought, forcing himself to sit up and lean against the shower wall. I have to be strong. For New York. For the team. For . . . nevermind. Tears streamed down his cheeks. Suddenly, he heard footsteps in his connected bedroom. There was a voice. His voice.  
“Shit.” Tony’s gruff voice was accompanied with a bang, probably meaning he’d stumbled into a dresser in the dark. Why is he in my fucking room? Steve thought to himself, brow furrowing. Ever since the helicarrier incident, he and Tony had been completely avoiding each other. Even though Steve had a crush on him since the day he met Tony, the guy got on his goddamn nerves. He couldn’t stand him, and he had a feeling Tony felt the same. So why was he coming in his room at 4 in the morning?  
“Steve? Are you in there?” Tony’s sleepy grunt came from the other side of the door.  
“Yeah, why? And also, why are you in my bedroom? This early I wouldn’t think you’d be getting up for another 7 hours.” Steve said back, trying to make his voice not sound choked.   
“I heard yelling from here, got worried, but you know what, nevermind. Just don’t shoot yourself ‘till after the next imminent threat to the world gets taken care of.” Tony replied in a clipped tone.  
“Go fuck yourself.” Steve barked out. Tony ignored him, or had already left. Fuck. So this whole ‘crush on Tony’ thing wasn’t going much of anywhere for the moment. Or anytime, really, in the next year. Maybe even after that. But that wasn’t the thing that had woke Steve up at night for the past week. It might be easier if there were someone he could talk to about it. But, he never got that close to any of his teammates, except maybe Natasha, but even they weren’t that close of friends. Steve had only been out of the ice for about 4 months. This would be easier if Bucky were here, was the only thing he could think at the moment.   
But he made himself brush it off. Get up, wiped his tears from his eyes, turned the water less hot and got his wits together. He was gonna go for a run. Get his shit together. Make breakfast. Do something to get his mind off it, off everything. Off Peggy, who never got her dance. Off Bucky, who died an early death. Off the fucking way of life that had changed so drastically. Off everyone he knew, and everyone he didn’t, that he wouldn’t see anymore because of the 70 years he was gone in that fucking ocean.


	2. A Confrontation, of Sorts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony knows something's up with Steve. He has options, and he chooses to try and talk about it. Not everything goes as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a little shorter as I'm trying to write another fic at the same time, and I'm also on vacation so I don't have a lot of time to write. Also, the formatting is weird on AO3, so whenever I try to make thoughts or other things italisized it doesn't work. Same with paragraph spacing, it takes away 'tabs' and such. Still, hope you guys like this one! :)

A muffled “Go fuck yourself” was the last thing Tony heard when he turned his back on the door he knew Steve was behind. He couldn’t help but think ‘Wish you would instead’. The guy was a total asshole, but for some fucking reason Tony still had a crush on him. Had since he was 13. When Howard found out . . . Well, Tony didn’t want to think about it.

Still, Tony knew something was wrong with Steve. He’d heard the yelling, it had woke him up from his floor below on one of the rare nights he actually made it back to his room instead of collapsing in his workshop. Even though the captain had acted like nothing was wrong, why the fuck would he be in the shower at 4am? Or screaming at 3? Something just didn’t make sense, and Tony intended to find out what it was. But right now was not the time to do it. Tony was about to pass out from lack of sleep, and from waking up at 4 when he went to sleep at 2. Even coffee couldn’t fix this.

In the morning (around 9), Tony found Steve in the kitchen, making eggs, but his hands were almost trembling and his knuckles were bloody. That meant more murdered punching bags. He could tell Steve was trying to ignore it. He knew he should try to talk to him about it, that it might help Steve to be able to get whatever it was off his chest, but he really didn’t want to engage with the super soldier right now. Not right after having a wet dream about him. And with his boner still partially there. 

So instead he dived for the coffee maker. Just one problem, though. Steve was standing right in front of it. Tony cleared his throat, trying to get him to realize. Nothing happened. Again, he coughed. Still nothing.

“‘Scuse me.” He said, trying to get to it. Finally, Steve moved to the side with a grunt in acknowledgement. Tony got a glimpse at his face when he did. God, the guy must’ve never went back to sleep. His cheeks were slightly gaunt, and his skin had a gray tinge to it. There were deep bags under his eyes, and his hair definitely hadn’t been brushed. 

Tony weighed the options in his head. He could just get his coffee and retreat to his workshop, the easiest option but the one with the most guilt. Or, he could confront Steve about it and risk a fight, but what’s the worst that can happen? And, it’s far better to talk about an issue straight up instead of letting it fester and burn. Still, it would be really awkward. He decided on the second one.

“Steve.” He said suddenly, eliciting a stunned and fearful look from the other man. “Look, we need to talk about this. You need to talk about this.”  
“About what? So far as I can recall, nothing’s happened that needs talking about.” Steve replied, faking nonchalance and not looking him in the eye.  
“Come on. Don’t act stupid, you know just what fucking happened. I’m not playing the bad guy here, but screaming in the shower at 4 in the morning isn’t typical behavior unless you’re having a midlife crisis.” Tony said  
“Are we really gonna do this? Are you, the guy that still brought home his whores until about a month ago, going to fucking lecture me on how to get my shit together? The guy that still has a drinking problem while he’s in his 30’s, uses daddy issues as an excuse for fucking everything even though he actually had a father, and spent most of his million-dollar trust fund on drugs and prostitutes, is he gonna question me? Because right now, Tony, I can’t see that happening.” Steve said, his voice turning harsh as he turned to face Tony.

That fucking stung. Tony had been doing his best to change his bad habits. To put the past in the past, leave it behind and start anew. He tried to talk back, but he couldn’t speak. His mouth just moved noiselessly. He felt tears forming in his eyes but he tried to choke them back. He wouldn’t give Steve the satisfaction of knowing he hurt him like that. Steve just turned and walked away, his gaunt features contorted in rage, and hurt, and . . . fear. Tony didn’t know why he was scared, but it was there and there was no mistaking it. It seemed like that look never left his eyes anymore.


End file.
